


this, i promise you

by chalantness



Series: drabble collections [5]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Drabble Collection, F/M, The Way You Said "I Love You" (meme)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-21
Updated: 2016-09-21
Packaged: 2018-08-16 11:39:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 14
Words: 13,658
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8100997
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chalantness/pseuds/chalantness
Summary: Collection of prompt fills from a completed "the way you said, 'I love you' " meme on tumblr.





	1. Bucky/Wanda - #33

**Author's Note:**

> From this [prompt list](http://chalantness.tumblr.com/post/147323203071/the-way-you-said-i-love-you).
> 
> **Two chapters are rated NC-17 and marked as such! I just didn't want to rate the whole thing as that since the rest of the fills are PG-13.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **rating:** PG-13  
>  **word count:** ~500  
>  **prompt:** 33\. On a post-it note (for staticquakes)

Not an inch of his apartment hasn't been touched by her.

Whether it's her lavender toothbrush sitting in the chipped Captain America mug sitting on his (their) bathroom sink, or the lacy undergarments tossed into the empty space next to his boxers in the top drawer of the dresser. The vibrant quilt she'd picked up at the linen store down the block is a permanent fixture on the couch, somehow not managing to look a bit out of place against the dull gray fabric. Her books are neatly stacked in the center of the glass coffee table, her assortment of rings housed in a decorative turquoise bowl that sits on the breakfast bar, a pale pink leather-bound notebook filled with recipes copied in her perfect script sitting on the counter right next to the landline that's only ever touched when they order in. Her guitar sits on its stand next to the bay window, which has an assortment of throw pillows she'd picked out a thrift shop, with the stuffed teddy bear he'd won for her at the state fair a few months ago. (Its left arm was ripped a little at the stitching. She hadn't wanted to trade it in for a better one, and he thinks he kissed her way too long because of it.) Her perfume – some kind of fruit that he can never place, and she gets this sexy little curl to her lips whenever he tries to guess, never giving away whether he's right or not – is always lingering in the air, sticking to the fabric of the furniture. There's nowhere he can turn that doesn't have some trace of her.

It's his favorite thing about this place.

She's gone when he wakes up, which he knew she would be. She had mentioned her breakfast plans with Natasha last night after dinner, and he'd tried to convince her to reschedule, or push it back later, rolling them over to press her back into the mattress. She'd giggled beneath him, her long hair fanned out over his pillow, batting her eyelashes when she told him that she wasn't about to skip out on her date, but he was welcome to make her try.

She'd fallen apart twice on his fingers and lips, quivering and whimpering and tugging at his hair. He'd thought that he'd definitely had her.

It wouldn't be Wanda if she wasn't full of surprises, though, so he woke up to way too much sunlight and her side of the bed empty. He wanted to be pissed. He'd laughed instead and stepped into the shower, her coconut conditioner still lingering in the air, making him smile like an idiot as he washed himself off.

He doesn't catch it when he first walks into the kitchen, for some reason, but he does when he's leaning against the edge of the counter and stirring a splash of creamer into his coffee. The bright pink post-it note stands out against the door of the microwave, and he's already smiling against the rim of his mug as he goes to take a closer look. Her kiss is stained in red on the post-it, and written underneath is just, _I love you_.

He tugs the microwave door open, feeling himself chuckle when he finds a plate of pancakes, bacon, and scrambled eggs sitting inside. His favorite.

He sends a picture of it to her, grinning when she replies with a heart.

He's definitely an idiot for her. He doesn't want it any other way.


	2. Sam/Sharon - #33

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **rating:** PG-13  
>  **word count:** ~600  
>  **prompt:** 33\. On a post-it note (for staticquakes)

He feels like a bit of a jerk for ever poking fun at her for fretting over her speech, especially when she seems to be nervous about it. He had known that this was all a big deal, that this dinner wasn't just some company dinner and that being asked to speak was a huge honor. He knew this. He was _proud_ of her, is _still_ proud of her each and every day, and if he maybe didn't act all that concerned about how she might be handling it it's because he knew that she could. He knew that she could kick ass at whatever she put her mind to, and considering everything he's seen her do, giving a five-minute blurb was _cake_. She gave speeches dozens of times and usually out of thin air, and they always came out so _perfect_ that he had to wonder if she'd been getting lessons from Steve or something. They'd both just laughed, but it was an honest question.

He wishes he'd thought to ask more about _this_ speech, though. The speech that seems to have Sharon so out of sorts that she's pacing the small space of between their bed and the closet in just her bra and underwear, reciting her speech over and over again as she flips through her note cards. He knows that she isn't composed all the time, but he's never seen her quite like _this_ before and it almost makes him nervous, too.

"Babe," he says, catching her by her waist and pulling her hips flush against his. She blinks up at him, lower lip almost out in a _pout_. Damn, she's adorable. He wants to kiss that pout away, so he does, feeling a warmth of satisfaction in his chest when her body eases ever so slightly at his touch. "You've got this."

"Do I?"

"You do," he replies easily, kissing her cheek. "You know you do."

She takes a long breath, leaning her forehead against his jaw. "I don't know what's wrong with me. I was perfectly fine last night."

"It's just nerves. Happens to the best of us." She breathes out a laugh and tucks herself even closer against his chest. He smooths a hand over her back and down her arm, sliding down to gently grasp the notecards in her hand and pry them from her grip. She only resists for a moment, then releases her hold on them, tipping her head back to meet his eyes. "I'll take care of these for you, alright? Just finish getting ready. Unless you plan to go like this, which might not be a bad plan. No one will even notice if you mess up your speech."

" _Sam_ ," she laughs, poking his chest. He grins, and she leans her head up to kiss his lips, short but sweet. "Thank you."

She's a little more relaxed as she walks into their bathroom, but he can still tell that she hasn't shaken off the nerves. He frowns a little, glancing around the room, and then he catches sight of the post-it note sitting on the nightstand on his side of the bed. A simple little note she'd left for him the other day, wishing him good luck in instructing his first combat class at the Facility. He grins at it for a moment before heading into the office.

(Later, when she's standing in the dark next to the stage, glancing at her note cards one last time before going on, he smiles when he sees her pause at the last card. She looks up, quickly finding his eyes across the room, and it takes all of his control not to run over to her right then and there and kiss her as badly as he wants to with the way she's looking at him right now.

"I love you, too," she mouths, and he winks, sipping his champagne.)


	3. Bucky/Wanda - #26

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **rating:** PG-13  
>  **word count:** ~700  
>  **prompt:** 26\. Broken, as you clutch the sleeve of my jacket and beg me not to leave (for bloodredmoon87)

Her lips curl ever so slightly at the corners, her bright red eyes never once leaving the man she's brought to his knees on the ground before her, his body twisted and locked into place in her telepathic grip. Her power is practically radiating off of her, pulsing through the air as it swirls around them, intoxicating, _suffocating_. Bucky yanks the blade out of his thigh with no more than a wince as he staggers back to his feet, eyes wide and throat tight as he watches Wanda take a step closer to the Hydra agent, fingers flexing, ripping another plea from his throat. Bucky's fingers twitch, stomach curling uneasily as he stares at the eerily calm smile she casts down at her victim.

That's not Wanda. That's not _his_ Wanda.

She takes another step, curls her fingers together, drawing another cry, and the sound of it snaps Bucky out of his trance. He lunges for her, calling out her name – no, no, no, _no_ ; she's not going to become a killer, not for him, not for anyone but definitely not for him, _not because of him_ – but she doesn't so much as flinch. Her eyes had glowed brightly, almost blindingly, as soon as the guy had jabbed his dagger in Bucky, and they'd only grown wilder since.

 _No, no, no, no_.

"Wanda," he yells, making it to her in a few long strides. His metal hand grasps her wrist, and he's about to say her name, but then he feels something closing around his throat, some kind of force wrapping around and trapping his voice. His grip tightens on her wrist and she turns to him, eyes blazing. " _Wanda_."

She blinks once, twice. And then her eyes widen.

And then her face crumples.

Her telepathic grip is yanked so suddenly from his throat that he almost sways forward with the motion, sucking in a gasp of air. She brings her free hand up quickly to cover her mouth, her eyes dark and glassy and completely _terrified_.

" _James_ ," she rasps. Her voice is muffled by her hand, but the fear in her tone is loud and ringing in his ears. "Oh, _god_ , James."

"I'm okay, I'm okay," he murmurs over and over again, tightening his grip on her wrist a little more. He tries to draw her close, but she doesn't budge, and he feels his chest tighten. "Wanda, it's okay. It's okay. _I'm okay._ " She shakes her head, prying her hand from his grasp as she meets his eyes. He can see the anxiety in her eyes, tugging at his heart. She feels ashamed. She feels _broken._

He knows what she's about to do next.

"I have to go," she says quickly, already turning to leave.

"Wanda, _no_ ," he says – _pleads_ – grasping onto the sleeve of her leather jacket. _His_ leather jacket, that always looked so much better on her than it did on him. His stomach twists at the wicked, awful thought that comes to his mind at seeing it on her right now, like he'd given her part of his shadows, too. Like he'd let her get wrapped up in his demons. Now all he wants to do is rip the thing off of her.

"It's not safe." _You're not safe_ , she means.

 _You're not safe from me_.

"James, please let go," she whispers, voice cracking. She looks like she's seconds away from making him move, and the fear of that – of not being able to make her _stay_ – makes his throat tighten, makes his mind spin. He can't –

He's _not_ losing her.

"James – "

"I love you," he blurts out, practically shouts. His voice cracks, too, and maybe he sounds pathetic, but he means it, and he thinks it's the only thing he can say right now to keep her from bolting. She blinks at him, a tear rolling down her cheek at the motion. "I love you, okay?" he asks, tugging at her sleeve to draw her a little closer, and she lets him. He takes another step to close the distance, not once looking away. "I love you," he says softly, and it must sound as much of a plead to her ears as it does to his, because she nods slowly as a few more tears roll down her cheeks. She's trembling, _shaking_ , as he brings his free hand up to wipe them away with the pad of his thumb.

"I love you, too," she tells him, looking up at him from underneath her long eyelashes. Her lower lip quivers the way it always does when she cries, and he never thought that he would be so relieved to see that, but he is.

 _That's his Wanda_.


	4. Bucky/Wanda - #15, 35

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **rating:** PG-13  
>  **word count:** ~900  
>  **prompt:** 15\. Loud, so everyone can hear + 31. In awe, the first time you realized it (for steph21108 and seductiveturnip)

He loves her.

He thinks he's always known it, somehow, in that deep, bright corner inside him that Hydra hadn't managed to get their hands on. That _Wanda_ had managed to wrap around her finger, because she's all he's been able to think about since Steve and Sam had dragged him back to New York after two years of letting him run from his problems. He remembers how she looked at him that day, her head tilted and her eyes bright and curious in a way that her expression would never have given away. The years and years he'd spent watching people, reading them, didn't do a _damn thing_ to prepare him for meeting Wanda. He'd been drawn to her since Day One, when she stood in the medical bay with her arms crossed and this… _pout_ , kind of, on her lips, staring at him as Dr. Banner ran his tests. He remembers how concentrated she'd looked, how _intent_ , until Steve nudged her with his elbow and snapped her out of her trance with an amused grin, and then she suddenly looked so much younger as her cheeks colored and she murmured an apology, glancing away.

She'd been trying to read his mind, he later figured out. Well. Not _trying_ , since nothing could've kept her _out_ of his head if she actually put the effort. She'd been curious and trying not impede on his privacy. He can't remember the last time someone had shown him that kind of consideration. He should've known.

He should've known he'd have no chance in hell not to fall in love with her.

So that's why he finds himself standing like an idiot with his metal hand barely maintaining its grip on the beer Clint offered him, his mouth open and his eyes wide and his every sense transfixed on where Wanda is sitting on the grass in the middle of Sam's backyard. Baby Nathaniel sits between her legs, giggling giddily as Wanda makes an assortment of his toys float through the air right above his head. Pietro pokes at Baby Nate's foot, throwing a scowl at Wanda when he's realized his sister has snatched the boy's attention for good, and Wanda tosses her head back in a laugh.

Bucky's heart hammers in his chest. It takes him a second to remember to _breathe_.

"You alright?" Steve asks. He's sitting on a chair with Natasha in his lap, their legs stretched out and tangled together. Natasha keeps complaining that it's too hot to cuddle, but has made no effort in removing herself from her fiance.

 _Ridiculous_.

"Fine," Bucky mumbles, already walking towards Wanda, his body drawn to her before his thoughts can catch up. She looks up at him and smiles.

 _Absolutely ridiculous_.

Wanda gives him a cute smile, snatching the beer from his hand before he's barely knelt down beside her. He hadn't gotten it for her, because she hadn't asked for one, and normally he'd point this out as if it made a difference. As if he could deny her _anything_. But his voice is caught in his throat, and he's still staring like an idiot, lips twitching at the corners as she makes a show of popping the can open and taking a big gulp. Her eyes twinkle in the sunlight as she licks her lips and hands him back the beer, a satisfied smile on her lips.

"I love you," he breathes, soft and barely above a whisper. The weight of this realization tugs at his heart, makes his stomach flip.

She blinks at him. She looks _confused_. She looks adorable.

"What?" she asks. He had a hot dog earlier and must have crumbs or something still stuck to his face, because she automatically brings her hand up to brush at his stubble with the pad of her thumb. He leans into her palm and snatches her wrist with his fingers, feeling her pulse quicken under his touch.

"I love you," he repeats, a little louder. Her eyes widen ever so slightly, and in his peripheral, he sees Pietro sit up a little straighter.

"What?" she asks again. He almost believes her, but he catches the twitch to the corner of her lips.

She heard him the first time.

Smirking, he says, loudly this time, "I love you!" and the backyard falls silent. Her lips break into a wide, beautiful, _bright_ smile, and her shoulders shake with the laughter she's trying not to let out. Whether she's laughing because he's being ridiculous or because of what he's actually saying, he's not quite sure. He couldn't care less, though. She's laughing, and it's his favorite sound in the world. "I love you!" he shouts again, and she giggles as she tries to slap her hand over his mouth, but he's up in an instant, throwing his arms out. Beer splashes onto the grass. "I love you, Wanda Maximoff!" he exclaims, heart fluttering as he watches her squeal and scramble to stand up. "I love you – "

She _jumps_ at him, legs locking around his hips, arms winding around his neck, and shuts him up with a kiss. He can feel her laughing against his lips, and he smiles into the kiss as he drops his beer to the ground, slides his hands over her back and presses her closer. He can vaguely hear their friends cheering.

"Say it again," she says, and of course he does, over and over again. Because she's got his heart at the palm of her hand.

(The only place for it to be.)


	5. Pietro/Darcy - #25

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **rating:** M-ish  
>  **word count:** ~600  
>  **prompt:** 25\. In a blissful sigh as you fall asleep (for doheyed)

"My baby sister just got married."

Darcy grins, sits with her back to him on the edge of the bed as she pulls a pin out of her hair and makes it unfurl into a beautiful mess of curls over her shoulders. He'd spent all night wanting to do this very thing, partly because she almost looked pained at one point with all those pins tugging at her scalp, holding her intricate braid in place atop her head. But also because he kind of loves how silky and soft her hair feels on his fingertips, loves the little _purr_ she lets out when he massages the pads of his thumbs over her scalp. He scoots himself across their bed to do this very thing, grinning when Darcy sighs in content and leans back into his hand. She looks so sexy like this, with her hair down and the top half of her dress pooled at her hips, exposing her black, lacy bra to him.

"She's only younger than you by twelve minutes," Darcy reminds, casting a smirk over her shoulder at him as she lifts her hips up and shimmies her dress down her legs. "And they left no more than an hour ago."

"On their _honeymoon_ ," Pietro adds with a bit of a scowl. He likes Bucky just fine – obviously, since he gave the guy his blessing when he'd asked for Wanda's hand in marriage – but that doesn't mean he wants to think of what those two will do when they get to their suite. Or right now, on the plane. He shudders.

"Stop pouting," Darcy laughs.

"I'm not."

"Yeah?" She reaches over and brushes her thumb over his lower lip, and he catches her wrist in his hand and kisses just over her pulse.

"I'm _not_ ," he insists. She arches an eyebrow at him, and she looks so ridiculously beautiful like this, casting a knowing smirk over her shoulder with her hair all undone and her body half-turned away from him, drawing his eyes down her curves. He grins, and she only has a second to realize what he's about to do before he's hooking an arm around her waist and drawing a _squeal_ as he rolls them over and pins her to the mattress beneath him.

She presses her hands flat against his abs, trailing her fingers over his chest as she smooths them up and over his shoulders, tugging him even closer.

"Then show me how much you're not pouting."

He laughs – he's always loved a good challenge, especially from Darcy – and dips his head down, sealing a wet kiss over the column of her throat, just above her pulse, and then smirks against her skin at the way her body curls against his. It's easy to get lost in her, in her laughter and her scent and her touch, and he _winks_ at her when he's between her legs, her fingers tugging at his hair to draw him closer, draw his lips and his tongue where he's purposefully avoiding.

"Okay," he admits, giving a soft lick, watching her body bend. "Maybe I was pouting, but only because I wanted you to distract me."

" _Liar_ ," she breathes. He laughs. "So, are you distracted or what?"

"Not yet," he answers, and then rolls his tongue, smirking at the way his name sounds on her lips as she whines for _more_.

Later, when he's tugged the blanket over them and she's tucked herself as close as physically possible, she presses a soft kiss to his collarbone.

"She seems happy," Darcy comments.

"Very," Pietro agrees.

"Are _you_ happy?"

He closes his eyes, tips his head to press a kiss into her hair, and she tightens her hold on him ever so slightly. "Very." She smiles up at him and tilts her head up to kiss him, and he murmurs an _I love you_ against her lips.

"You better."


	6. Steve/Natasha - #20

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ft. James and Tatiana
> 
>  **rating:** PG-13  
>  **word count:** ~1300  
>  **prompt:** 20\. As we huddle together, the storm raging outside (for bloodredmoon87)

The lights flicker again as Natasha loads the last plate from dinner into the dishwasher, glancing at the dining room again. James and Tatiana are at the table, sitting on opposite ends with their papers and textbooks spread out in front of them, barely glancing up from their work. Steve is sitting at the kitchen table with his mission reports, but he's been glancing at the kids so often that she doubts he's made any progress. She didn't think it was possible for a grown man to pout so hard, but there's really no other way to describe the expression on Steve's face. Not that she can blame him. The house is _silent_ aside from the storm outside, wind howling and throwing the rain against the house in sheets. That storm wouldn't stand a chance against the one in her dining room, though.

It's been three days since James and Tatiana have said a word to each other without snapping, and honestly?

Natasha is terrified.

They've fought before. Of course they have. They've just never fought for so _long_ and never quite like this. They'll argue and yell, and practically follow each other around the house to keep fighting because they're both too stubborn to know when to call it quits. Sometimes if Tatiana is in a particularly harsh mood, she'll give her brother the silent treatment, but she can only keep it up for so long

But this isn't like any of their other fights. They've barely even _looked_ at each other in three days, and whenever they need to speak, their voices are soft and short and with no wasted breaths. Like they've given up on being pissed at each other. _God_ , the _last_ thing Natasha wants is for them to give up on each other. She'd rather they argue and slam doors and stomp around the house than not want to have anything to do with the other. She and Steve had agreed to not step in, to let them work it on out their own, but Natasha's resistance is quickly dissolving. She _hates_ how quiet the house has been.

"If you frown any harder, your face is going to stay that way," she tells Steve, placing a hand on his cheek.

He knows her, of course, so he knows what she's really talking about. He turns to kiss her palm, mumbling against her skin. "They'll work through this, right?" he asks softly, low enough for only her to hear. She nods – they will, she knows it – and he smiles in return, taking both of her hands in his and bringing them to his lips, blowing a warm breath over her fingers. "You're freezing," he says.

"I think that means you should cuddle with me."

He _laughs_ , rubbing her hands between his as he stands. He hardly needs an excuse to cuddle with her, especially when she gets cold so easily, but he still pretends like he's waiting for her permission whenever he wants to. They walk over to the couch and Steve unfolds the blanket they keep draped over the arm during the winters, and she tucks her feet up under her and curls herself into his side as he switches on the TV. There are at least half a dozen holiday baking specials on right now, and it's no surprise at all that he settles on one for them to watch. Some kind of gingerbread house decorating competition. She meets Steve's eyes, smiling at the twinkle in them before glancing toward the dining room again.

"Hey, Jamie," she says, and James looks up, eyebrows raised. She's the only one that ever calls him that, and usually when she wants his attention. "Do you have any ideas what you want to do for the gingerbread house this year?"

It's something that started when the kids were little, and every year, the buildings they replicate get bigger and more complex. Last year, they'd made an entire village, and it took four months for them to finally clear the last of it out of the freezer. It's something that James and Tatiana do every year, and something that they've always done _together_.

"Um," he starts, glancing at his sister as he rubs a hand over his neck, "I don't know. I'm sure whatever Tatiana wants will be fine."

"Really?" she asks, not even glancing up from what she's writing. "I thought you couldn't care less about my opinion."

"That's not true." He sounds exasperated, eyebrows furrowing. Natasha will never get over how much James looks like Steve, especially like this.

"Then maybe you should've thought twice about second-guessing me on that mission," she says, and before he can speak, she slams her pen onto the table and stands up, the legs of her chair scraping against the hardwood with the motion. She doesn't so much as glance at her brother as she walks around the table, and Natasha is only a little surprised when the girl stomps over to the living room and plops herself onto the couch. She'd expected the girl to go straight to her room like she's done the last three days. Natasha starts tugging the blanket closer to her, but Tatiana shakes her head, mumbles, "I'm fine," as she crosses her arms and keeps her eyes stubbornly locked on the TV.

James rolls his eyes and gets up, disappearing into the hallway, and Natasha feels a flutter of warmth in her chest when Tatiana glances at him.

They hear the hallway closet open and then close, and then James is walking back into the living room with another blanket in his arms. Tatiana pretends to be too preoccupied with the TV to notice her brother, but then he drapes the blanket completely over her, covering her head, and she huffs and yanks it off to cast a glare at him. The corners of his lips twitch into a bit of a smirk.

"Finally figured out how to look me in the eyes again, huh?" he asks.

"Whatever," she mumbles, tucking the blanket under her chin. "Feel better now that you've fulfilled your need to baby me?"

"I don't baby you. I just want to take care of you, T. Is that so bad?"

"When you let it affect how you treat me in the field, it is." He opens his mouth to protest, but Tatiana burrows herself into Natasha's side, and Natasha brings a hand up to run it over her hair. "And don't try to say it's you being protective because Mom and Dad never disregarded me as an agent the way you did."

"I wasn't about to send you in there to get killed!" he snaps, voice echoing over the wind outside. Natasha feels Tatiana tense, but when James moves to sit on her other side, she doesn't try to move away. That's something, at least. "We weren't able to save the research from the lab because I chose not to send you back in there, but it's a choice I'd make every single time to keep you safe. The success of our mission will never be worth risking your life, and that's it."

Tatiana lets out a breath, sitting up a little straighter. "I would've been fine."

"I know," he answers. "But I still wasn't going to risk it, and I'm never going to."

"James," Tatiana says.

James shakes his head. "I don't care if you hate me for it. I don't care if Grandpa Nick demotes me from team captain because of it. No mission is ever going to be worth it if you get hurt under my orders."

He stands up without waiting for a response, turning to walk away, but then Tatiana grabs onto his hand and he pauses. "You're an idiot," she sighs. He raises his eyebrows but doesn't move, and she tugs his fingers. "And you're freezing," she points out, and Natasha feels her heart squeeze a little as Tatiana pulls at James's hand until he sits down beside her, then tosses half of her blanket over him. Steve squeezes Natasha's hand where their fingers are still laced under their blanket, and James smiles as Tatiana leans her head against his shoulder, tucking herself into his side a little.

"I love you," she mumbles.

"I love you, too, T."


	7. Bucky/Wanda - #2, 27

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **rating:** PG-13  
>  **word count:** ~800  
>  **prompt:** 2\. With a hoarse voice, under the blankets + 27. A taunt, with one eyebrow raised and a grin bubbling at your lips (for steph21108 and elldorable)

He can hear her coughs as soon as he steps into the apartment and his chest tightens at the sound of it. She'd caught a bug on her last assignment and has been sick on the couch for the past three days because of it, but Bruce had stopped by yesterday to check on her and said that she seemed to be over the worst of it, so it shouldn't last much longer. She's been nauseous and dizzy and not able to hold down much other than crackers and chicken noodle soup, and the first night she'd barely gotten any sleep because she was coughing so much. He _hates_ seeing her so uncomfortable, even if she looks totally adorable like this, bundled up in her blanket with her hair matted down in odd directions.

"Feeling any better, sweetheart?" he asks, leaning over the back of the couch to kiss her hair. He presses his hand to her neck, smiling at the way she sighs softly and leans into his touch. Her temperature has definitely gone down.

"Mostly," she admits. "Still coughing up a fit, though."

"Sexy," he chuckles, tipping his head so he can kiss her lips, but she lets out this little squeal when she realizes what he's trying to do, tugging the blanket over her head and turning away from him. "Wanda, come on," he laughs. He's told her multiple times that he couldn't get sick, at least not as easily as most. Definitely not from a small bug like the one she caught. She'd let it slide that first night when he pulled her into his arms and rubbed her back while her coughs kept her up, but by the next morning, she wouldn't come within two feet of him. It's adorable, how she insists on not passing it onto him, but still. He's missed being able to kiss his girlfriend, and the fact that he still _can_ while she's sick and not run the risk of catching anything himself means that he should take advantage of it, right?

"I love you, but stop," she says, voice muffled from the blanket and still a little hoarse from coughing so much. "Even if you can't get sick, I'm still gross."

"You could never be gross." She huffs. "Babe, stop. I've missed you."

"What?" she laughs, tugging the blanket off from over her head and making her hair fall in this elegant mess around her face. He doesn't know how she can still look so beautiful like this, but he's not about to complain. "How could you miss me? You haven't even left my side for three days." She tucks the blanket under her chin and grins at him. "Steve practically had to drag you out the door."

"Yeah, because he's a jerk," he says, walking around the couch to sit beside her. She leans away a little, but he just smirks, wraps his arm around her and practically hauls her onto his lap. She squeals at the sudden movement and braces a hand against his chest to catch her balance. She narrows her eyes at him, but she's smiling, too, so it's fine. "I've missed holding you. I haven't been allowed to touch you in days." He brings his hand up, tucking his fingers into her hair, and she gnaws her lower lip a little. She's missed this just as much as he has. "I've missed kissing you." He leans his head up to do just this, but then her hand slips over his lips, pressing down gently to keep him at bay. He kisses her palm and she breathes his name.

"We still shouldn't," she reminds, sounding almost reluctant.

"It's just a cough now, right?" She nods. "So what's the harm?" He gently grasps her wrist and pulls her hand off of his mouth, lips tugging into a bit of a smirk.

" _James_." She's practically pouting. _Fuck_ , she's adorable. "I'm not going to."

"But I love you," he teases, arching an eyebrow at her and trying not to laugh at the way her eyebrows knit together, her resistance quickly dissolving with those few words. She says his name in protest again, but he knows that he's finally poked through that stubbornness of hers. "Don't you love me, too, Wanda?"

"Of course I do." She frowns. "I just really don't want to get you sick."

"You won't," he promises, rubbing his fingers gently over her scalp. Her eyelashes flutter closed and she makes this little sound. "Please, Wanda?"

She huffs, a smile tugging at her lips, too, as she finally brings her hands up to cradle his face. She tips her head forward, and it should be stupid how he sort of holds his breath. They've kissed hundreds of times by now, but each one is just perfect as the first, and the anticipation of it makes his heart skip. Her lips brush against the corner, pressing lightly, teasingly, and when she pulls back to look at him, her eyes are twinkling in mischief. He breathes out a laugh and tugs her back to him, humming in content as her lips slant over his.

He's really missed this.


	8. Bucky/Wanda - #11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **rating:** NC-17  
>  **word count:** ~1700  
>  **prompt:** 11\. With a shuddering gasp (for aquajules)
> 
> Also fills the prompt "I think I'm in love with you, and I'm terrified" (for seductiveturnip)

"Damn dress," he murmurs against the curve of her neck, and she can't help but giggle beneath him as he tucks his fingers into her hair and nuzzles his face even closer to her skin, kissing every inch his lips touched. That "damn dress" is one of his favorites, and she knows it because he's taken her out of it just as many times as she's zipped herself in it. She's fairly certain the only thing that keeps him from literally ripping it off of her is that he loves how it looks on her. He'd stood behind her in the elevator with one hand on her hip and the other tugging at the hem of her dress, and he'd whispered how amazing her legs looked, how perfectly it hugged her curves. She'd been half paranoid that the elderly couple in the elevator with them could hear his every word, and she had to gnaw on her lower lip to keep from making a sound herself.

That dress is on the floor somewhere in the living room, with her heels by the couch and her bra and panties down the hallway. She was half surprised that they'd even made it to the bed this time, and she giggles again when she remembers how he couldn't even wait for her back to hit the mattress before he was pressing inside of her.

She feels him smile against her skin, angles his hips and rolls into her a little harder, deeper. " _James_ ," she gasps, digging her nails into the muscles of his back. He nips at her skin and then licks the mark he leaves, snapping his hips.

Then he slips a hand between their bodies and she whimpers when his thumb slips over her bundle of nerves, rubbing gently, just enough to make her body shake. She scratches over his skin and whimpers, feeling her desire coil tighter and tighter in her stomach as he drives her closer and closer to the edge. Her skin is tingling, the pleasure thrumming through her blood, but something tugs at her chest and makes it tighten oddly. She flutters her eyelids open, feeling his breathing stutter against her neck as his movements become faster, more erratic. His body is shaking, and she can tell it's not because he's close.

"Look at me," she breathes, the command tapering off at a particularly delicious thrust of his hips, distracting her for a moment. She moans his name and rolls her hips up in response, but then there's that tug at her chest again and then she's pushing her fingers through his hair and tugging gently. "Wait, wait," she breathes, and he does exactly that, her body humming right on that edge. He lifts his head to meet her gaze, his eyebrows furrowed. "You're trembling."

His lip twitches at the corner. "You have that effect on me, doll."

But she frowns, shaking her head. "You're afraid," she says, and it's not an accusation. Just an observation. As if to prove her point, she brings her other hand between them and presses it flat against his chest, over his racing heart.

There's a beat of silence. He just holds her gaze, not responding.

Then, "yeah."

"Why?" she asks, stroking the pad of her thumb over his skin. His metal hand grasps her wrist lightly. "What are you afraid of?"

"You," he says with a bit of a laugh. There's a stupid, fleeting moment of _panic_ that shoots right through her, but he senses it immediately, smoothing his hand over her forearm to soothe her as he quickly adds, "No, not – that's not what I mean." He laughs again, at himself, and tips his head down to kiss her. "I'm afraid of – of how much I feel for you." He rolls his hips slowly, once, twice. She whimpers and holds onto him even tighter, letting out a sharp, hot breath.

"Don't distract me," she says, practically whines, her frustration getting the better of her.

He grins a little and kisses the bridge of her nose. "I'm not," he promises. "I just can't help myself around you sometimes. That's what scares me." He starts moving his hips again, slowly, too slowly, and her eyelids flutter closed as she feels the pleasure slowly building back up at the base of her spine. "I think I'm in love with you, and I'm terrified," he says, and then hooks his hand under the bend of her knee, tugging her legs a little wider and sinking in a little deeper. Her lips part in a moan that echoes through the air.

"L-love?" she stutters. Her head is spinning. She can't – she needs –

"Yeah, babe." He presses a soft, gentle kiss to her lips. "I love you. I'm in love with you." He brushes her hair aside and nuzzles his face into her cheek, his hips rolling faster and faster, their breaths growing more and more uneven. He slides his thumb over her clit again, and she hears his breath catch over her own whimpers when her walls flutter even tighter around him. "Oh, _god_ – don't know how I convinced you that I was good enough for you when I'm not. I never was – _ah!"_ She snaps her hips up, taking him in deeper, and they both moan. "But one day you're going to realize it and leave like you should."

 _Enough_.

She musters every ounce of control she still has and stills his movements, just for a second, long enough for her to slide off of him and roll them over. He lets out a breath as he ends up on his back, mutters, "Shit, _shit_ ," when she settles over his pelvis, her slick folds just barely grazing his hard length. He must be able to feel her wetness on his skin, and his hands slide over her hips as he blinks his eyes up at her, his expression almost dazed.

She tips her head a little, her hair falling over her shoulder, and she braces one hand against his chest for balance as she slides the other over his cheek. His eyelashes flutter at her touch, lips twitching into a smile as she strokes the pad of her thumb over the apple of his cheek. "You are good enough, James," she tells him, her voice soft even to her own ears, but she knows he hears her. He rubs his lips together, and she can tell that he's about to protest, and a flash of irritation ( _adoration_ ) shoots through her. "Enough," she says, even though he hadn't uttered a word. She lifts her hips and reaches between them, grasping his length and relishing in the way he sucks in a breath. She slips it through her folds and rolls her hips once, twice, her body starting to tremble all over again as he lets out a loud, long groan. His thighs twitch under hers in his effort not to move, even though she hadn't even asked him not to. It's like he can tell that that's what she wants, and so he gives it to her. He always will.

How could he think he's not good enough for her?

He brushes right over her bundle of nerves, making her whimper and roll her hips a little faster, her walls _achingly_ empty as they flutter at the sensation. He mutters a curse beneath her, fingers flexing at her hips as if to grasp her and make her move faster, but she knows he won't. So she braces her hands flat against his chest and picks up her movements, tossing her head back and letting out a soft cry. It wouldn't take much more for her to finally peak.

" _Wanda_ ," he groans, already sounding _wrecked_. "Baby, _please_. I need – you have to – oh, _god._ I need to feel you."

"You're good enough, James," she breathes, grasping his face in her hands as she leans over his body, their chests almost pressing together as she grinds down on his length, drawing another deep, rumbling moan from the back of his throat. "Look at me," she says, and he does, eyelids fluttering open again to meet her gaze. Her vision is almost blurring at the edges now, her hips still moving as her body is quickly bringing itself into the beginnings of her orgasm, but she knows it won't be the same unless it's with him. _Because_ of him. And she knows he wants to be the one to give it to her as much as she wants it, too.

She's close. She's _so close_.

"I love you," she gasps, body shaking, shuddering, right on the edge of that dizzying high. He tightens his grip on her hips, just enough to still her body above him as her head drops to shoulder and she sucks in a breath, trembling. "I love you, James," she murmurs against his skin, pressing a kiss there. "I love you, and you are good enough. More than good enough. You're _perfect._ "

"Wanda," he starts, but she slants her lips over his before he can continue. He tucks his fingers into her hair, kissing her a little harder, a little deeper.

" _James_ ," she whispers, voice cracking at the end. He holds her gaze. "Please?"

He nods, fingers flexing at her hips. "Yeah," he breathes, voice calm, steady. His body isn't shaking anymore and relief flutters in her stomach. She lets out a quivery breath and presses her forehead to his, kissing his lips. He believes her. Maybe not entirely, and maybe just for now, but it's start. It's _enough._ "Hey," he murmurs, and she barely has a second to meet his eyes before he's lifting her hips and sliding her gently over him, making her gasp and scrape her nails over his chest as he groans. The press of him is deep and delicious, especially at this angle, and she presses her face into his neck as she savors the feeling.

She will never get tired of this, of him. _Never_.

"I love you," she breathes.

He grunts a little and snaps his hips up just as he's guiding her back down, brushing her sweet spot as his pelvis presses against her bundle of nerves, and her breath catches in her throat. He does this once, twice, three more times, until she finally falls over that edge with a keening cry, and then he grasps her chin with his fingers and brings her lips to his to kiss her through her orgasm.

"I love you," he says against her whimpering lips, over and over again, and her heart flutters in her chest at the pure _happiness_ radiating off of him.


	9. Bucky/Wanda - #3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **rating:** NC-17  
>  **word count:** ~1200  
>  **prompt:** 3\. A scream (for seductiveturnip)
> 
> Also inspired by [this photoshoot](http://karimccall.tumblr.com/post/149199505782/infiniitywars-one-time-my-mom-tried-to-send-me) of Elizabeth Olsen.

"Careful," she says, voice light, teasing, as James comes to stand behind her and press a kiss to her hair. He meets her eyes in the reflection, raising his eyebrows in a question, and her lips tug into a bit of a grin as she brings her hand up and combs it through the pale, bubblegum pink wig still on her head. She would be lying if she said that she didn't like how it looked with her white outfit under the glow of the black-light party they'd staked out, and it hasn't escaped her attention how James seemed particularly drawn to her hair more so than usual tonight. She arches an eyebrow at him now, lips quirking as she adds, "I might get offended by how much you prefer this wig to my real hair."

"Don't be crazy, doll," he almost growls, sliding his hands over her hips and drawing her back to his chest. He dips his head, teasing his tongue against the underside of her jaw as he presses a wet kiss there, and she hums, leans back against him a little more. "You just look good in anything," he says into her skin.

She reaches up, combs her fingers through his hair, drawing him closer. He kisses down her throat, dipping into the curve.

"So you still like it?"

He hums, his shaved jaw rubbing deliciously against her skin as he lifts his head up to meet her eyes in the mirror again. His eyes are dark with desire as he grips her hip with his metal hand, bringing the other up to brush her pale pink locks from her face. Her lips part as she holds his gaze, swallowing lightly.

"Yeah, I still like it." His voice is low and gravelly, breath warm in her ear, and…

"Then _show me_ ," she breathes, _pleads_ , and that seems to be what he'd been waiting for, because he dips his head again and sucks down on her pulse as his hands come around her back, tugging the zipper of her dress down her back. The cool metal of his hand presses flat against her, making her tingle and shiver as his thumb brushes over the clasp of her bra, teasing the lace there. She sucks in a soft gasp and arches her spine, keeping her eyes locked with his in the reflection as he moves his lips over the back of her neck, along the curve of her shoulder. She feels his hands pushing under her dress, making it fall from her body.

"You had all those eyes on you tonight," he says, breath hot against her ear as he pushes her dress off. It slides down her body, falling to the floor and leaving her in just her bra and panties and her knee-high, white leather boots. James lets his eyes trace over her slowly, taking in the damp lace of her panties, the flush of her cheeks, her glossy lips – and she shivers under his stare, pushing back against his hips and drawing a growl. "You had the whole room stopping to watch you wherever you went," he goes on, nuzzling his face into her wig as his hands slide around her front. "And when you got up on the bar, when you started dancing – _god_ , it was hard to keep from grabbing you myself. I wished I could hold you. I wished I was there with you."

She lets out a giggle, which dissolves into a whimper as his metal hand slides down the flat of her stomach, pressing against her slick heat through the thin fabric of her panties. He circles once, twice, and she arches, breathing out his name. Okay, maybe she'd meant for her little dance to be more as just a way to divert the room's attention from Sam and Steve slipping in through the back.

She'd meant it to be for _him_ , and she hardly cared about the way everyone was looking at them when they'd rendezvoused back at the jet. It didn't matter how many eyes were on her, how many people in that room tried to cop a feel or get her to go home with her. She's _his_ and only his, and he knows it, of course.

But she still likes to remind him when she can.

"You're with me right now," she reminds, sucking in a gasp as he slips his hand passed the lace, meeting her slick heat. He presses ever so slightly, spreading her wetness and making her walls flutter against his teasing touch. She _moans_.

"Yeah," he says, voice low, _strained_. "Yeah, I am."

He's hard – she can feel it – and it makes her whimper, pressing back against him a little more. "James," she breathes, rolling against his hand, his fingers dipping just passed her entrance with every little movement and making her body quiver. " _Please_." She needs – she needs _him_ , and he complies, sinking two fingers into her and pressing his palm flat against her bundle of nerves. She _gasps_ , shaking, spine arching as she leans her weight against him even more, and his free hand comes to grasp her hip, keeping her upright. She feels him hum, pressing a kiss to her hair as he curls his fingers. "Ah, _ah!_ " _  
_

He groans, kissing her cheek, her jaw, her neck, over and over again as he quickens the strokes of his fingers, rolling his thumb over her clit. Her body shudders, pleasure rippling over her, and she'd be more embarrassed by how quickly he's working her up if she hasn't been thinking about this in the back of her mind all night, ever since she saw his face when he got his first glimpse of the wig.

"You're so gorgeous," he tells her, voice low and gravelly. He tucks his other hand under the cup of her bra, grasping her nipple and rolling it between his fingers. She lets out a strangled little noise. "You're so beautiful, doll. Just look at you." He kisses her temple, swirling his fingertips up to circle her bundle of nerves over and over again, making her _shake_. "I love you. _God_ , I love you."

"I love you, too," she whispers, voice quivering, stuttering. He tugs at her nipple, curls his fingers, and she cries out, " _I love you!_ " as he drives her closer and closer to that dizzying edge. She's close, she can feel it. She's _so close_ –

Then he pulls his hand off of her, making her whimper as he turns her around to face him, kissing her hard as he steps into her space. She gasps against his lips as her back hits the cold mirror on the wall, and she hears him fumble with his stealth suit, fabric and metal falling to the ground as he strips his gear off. Her body is humming right on the edge of her high as he licks at the seam of her lips, parting them to press his tongue against hers, and then he hooks an arm around her and _lifts_ her off of the floor. She squeals, legs wrapping around his hips on instinct, and then dissolves into a whimper as she feels his length pressing against her slick heat.

"You still with me, doll?" he asks, pressing right at her entrance, her heart thumping in her chest and her walls fluttering as if in anticipation.

"Yes," she breathes, holding onto him a little tighter. "I'm always with you."


	10. Bucky/Jane - #31

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **rating:** M-ish  
>  **word count:** ~1000  
>  **prompt:** 31\. In awe, the first time you realized it (for doheyed)

When it settles in him for the first time, it's something calm, something quiet, but still _thrilling_ , making his skin tingle and his lips twitch into a smile as he watches her chatter over the phone with Darcy. He knows it's Darcy that's on the other line, too, even though Jane hasn't said it much. He can see it in her expression – half amusement, half-exasperation, absolute adoration. It's a look that she gets with _only_ Darcy, and despite the way he goes along with her teasing when she says that he's jealous of it, he really isn't. He knows that kind of genuine love for someone isn't something that should be envied. It should be revered.

He knows the feeling.

It had been early when they first woke. When he'd woken her with his hand dancing up her thighs, between her legs, his lips kissing down her body until she was blinking her eyes open and whimpering his name, and he'd chuckled and captured her lips in a soft, sweet kiss before moving down the bed, one hand pressing her back into the mattress the way he had just _hours_ ago, and the little sound she makes whenever he puts his mouth of her makes him groan into her slick heat _every time_. Now, an hour later, the morning sunlight is filtering in through the curtains, and Jane is sitting up against the many pillows she keeps on her bed, phone pressed to her ear with her shoulder as she pieces off the chocolate croissant he'd bought her from the Starbucks down the corner. That's really the only reason why she still isn't in any clothes and he is, and even then, she'd gotten him down to just his boxers again before the phone rang, and Jane looked up from under her lashes at him with that adorable face as he chuckled and told her to go ahead and answer it.

She has a few crumbs stuck to the corner of her mouth, a little bit of chocolate smudged on her fingertips, and his heart is thrumming in his chest. He really wants to kiss her, but he doesn't want to interrupt her call, either. She must talk with Darcy at least once a day, but the two haven't seen each other in a while and he knows it's starting to get to them. He can ignore the desire coiling at the base of his spine _just_ a little longer to give them their space. He doesn't have the heart to distract her.

As if sensing his thoughts, though, she catches his gaze as he takes another gulp of his coffee and her lips twitch at the corners, pulling into a wider smile.

"No, it's fine," Jane says to Darcy. "I have to go, too, anyway."

He grins, sets his cup down on his nightstand and shifts himself closer. She's barely finished hanging up before he grasps her by her hips, and she lets out a bit of a squeal as he tugs her onto her back, rolling himself over to settle his hips between her legs. She hums, licking her lips, and offers the last bite of her croissant to him. He hums, dipping his head to capture it between his lips, and he lets the tip of his tongue tease her fingertips, licking at the chocolate smudged on her skin as the pastry melts in his mouth. She bites her lower lip, eyelashes fluttering as he brings his metal hand up, grasping her wrist to keep it in place as he darts his tongue out again.

" _Well_ ," she breathes as he sucks at the chocolate on her fingertips again, "you're particularly friendly this morning."

He grins, nipping the pad of her thumb just hard enough to draw this little sound from the back of her throat, and then drawing back to peer down at her. "I'm always friendly," he says, heart fluttering in his chest as she _laughs_.

"I'm sure some of our friends would argue differently." Her eyes are twinkling as she gently scrapes her fingertips down his chest, grasping at the waistband of his boxers. "If I had to guess," she goes on, teasing at the skin just above the cotton material, making him shake ever so slightly, "I'd say something is on your mind, and you're trying to avoid saying what."

"Now, why would you think that?" he asks, and then bends, dipping his head to press a kiss to the flat of her stomach, just under her ticklish spot.

"Just a guess," she gasps, spin arching.

He hums against her skin, darting his tongue out, upward, until she lets out this little mewl and digs her nails into his shoulder.

"You can't just distract me." She probably meant her voice to be a little more forceful, but it comes out in this breathy whisper instead. He trails his lips up to press a kiss between the dip of her chest, just above the little star on the front of her bra, and then he licks a stripe up one breast, pressing a wet kiss to her skin. She whimpers. " _James_ ," she huffs, and he chuckles but obliges, skimming his lips up the column of her throat and then kissing the underside of her jaw before drawing away, just enough to look her in the eyes.

"I love you," he tells her, voice soft, almost strained, because holding her gaze makes his chest tighten, makes his stomach swoop and then coil, and he can't quite _breathe_ , but – it isn't a punch in the gut the way things have always been for him. It doesn't feel like his world is being ripped out from under his feet. It feels like things are finally clicking into place.

Her eyes widen, baring her pearly white teeth to him in a smile. "You… what?"

"I love you," he repeats, lower, _slower_ , his blood thrumming. " _Moya zvezda_."

 _My star_.

Her cheeks flush, the way they always do at the nickname, and she tips her head up to capture his lips. The kiss is slow, almost tentative, but he can feel her trembling underneath him as she nips and licks at the seam of his lips.

"My sunlight," she murmurs against his lips, meeting his eyes. "I love you, too."


	11. Bucky/Wanda - #6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **rating:** PG-13  
>  **word count:** ~900  
>  **prompt:** 6\. On a sunny Tuesday afternoon, the late sunlight glowing in your hair (for emily-is-fangirling)
> 
> Also inspired by [this picture](http://facelesssnaps.tumblr.com/post/142150580962/simply-divine-creation-masha-mashatheone).

The apartment still smells like vanilla and a little bit of spice, and there's a plate of frosted cookies sitting on the kitchen table next to one of Stephanie's bottles. He can hear their voices coming from the bedroom – soft, sweet whispers and the prettiest little giggle he's ever heard (well, maybe other than her mama's) and he, every time, gets this little flutter of warmth at the sound of it, of _them_ – and his lips tug into a smile. There's an ache in his muscles that tends to come with being away on a mission for three days straight, and there's a bruise on his shoulder that he knows he'll still be feeling tonight, despite his accelerated healing. But coming home to his girls always, always makes things that much better, makes the rest of the world just fade away, so he drops his bag onto the floor behind the couch and heads straight for the bedroom.

He finds them laying upside down in the middle of their bed, Wanda's hair fanned out over the sheets, her body curled around Stephanie as their little girl lets out another giggle and kicks her legs, reaching for her mother. Their faces are huddled together, Wanda's fingers splayed across Stephanie's back as she holds her close, and Bucky feels his smile widen. _God_ , he loves them so much.

"Look who's home, baby," Wanda coos, making Bucky's lips twitch into a grin. Of course she knew he was standing there. Wanda lifts her head to cast a smile at him, sweet and _sexy_ , and he's walking towards them before he can help it.

He'd showered and changed before leaving the facility for exactly this, because he wanted to come home and hold his girls without getting sweat and dirt all over them. It's something he didn't really have to worry about as much before (because Wanda didn't care what he came home like; she'd just launch herself into his arms and kiss him breathless, then take his hand and tug him towards the shower with her, and _fuck_ , he misses that, too). But he doesn't mind having to worry about it now, because Stephanie is worth it. She's _always_ worth it.

The bed dips a little when he goes to lay down with them, making Stephanie squirm in surprise, but then Wanda says, "Look, baby," in a calm, soothing voice, gently rolling Stephanie onto her back, and her little face _lights up_ when she sees him. "Who's that? Is that Daddy?"

Stephanie babbles in excitement, kicks her legs and reaches for him, and he lightly grasps her little arm and kisses her hand. She giggles, eyes wide and bright and just like her mother's. "Hi, baby girl," he says, stroking the pad of his thumb over her soft skin. Wanda must've taken a bath with her earlier, because they both smell like apples, and he dips his head and sort of presses his face into Stephanie's little shoulder, breathing her in. She squirms, babbling again.

"She missed you," Wanda tells him, reaching over Stephanie to cup his cheek. "So much," she adds, and he turns his head to press a kiss her palm.

"And you?" he teases, one eyebrow raised.

Wanda grins, blinking her eyelashes at him and making his heart flutter. "I missed you more," she says, voice almost a whisper, like it's supposed to be a secret. He breathes out a laugh, letting go of Stephanie's arm to slide his hand over Wanda's hip. She lets out this content little sigh, smoothing her fingers along his jaw, down the curve of his neck, tracing every little cut as she goes. He shivers lightly under her touch, and then lets out this soft sort of grunt when her hand settles right over the bruise on his shoulder. She frowns a little, her lower lip almost out in a pout, eyebrows pulling together in that way that makes him want to kiss the wrinkle that forms between them. He doesn't know how she does that – how she can find his injuries without him even saying he's hurt in the first place. "James," she breathes.

"It's nothing," he says, meaning it. It hurts now, but it'll be gone in the morning. That doesn't make her any less upset about his injuries, but still. "I promise, I'm fine," he reassures, gently squeezing his hand at her hip. "Especially right now."

"You better be," she says, and there's that sexy little smile of hers again.

"Well," he amends, lips tugging into a bit of a smirk. "I might need a little more attention later. Just in case."

She _laughs_ , soft and breathy and _happy_. "So needy," she teases, and then glances between them at their daughter, who's sort of just watching her parents with her bright, blue eyes. Wanda reaches down, gently tapping Stephanie's nose with the tip of her finger, and their little girl giggles, which makes Wanda giggle, too. He'll never, ever get over how their laughs sound like together.

He knows that he should probably unpack his bag soon, and then get started on dinner, but he can't quite bring himself to move right now as he watches Wanda coo to Stephanie, making her babble back happily, as if she really could understand what her mother is saying. Wanda's hair, still a little damp from their bath, is glistening as the low glow of the sunlight filtering in through the window,. She looks like an _angel_ , and he stopped feeling like an idiot for thinking that a long time ago, when he realized that it's pretty much true.

Wanda catches his gaze, amusement touching her smile. "What?" she asks with a bit of a laugh.

"I love you," he says, squeezing to her hip. Then he presses his face close to Stephanie's, making her babble and reach for him, her little hand landing on his cheek. He kisses her, drawing another giggle from her that makes Wanda laugh softly, and his heart flutters in his chest. "I love you both so much."

* * *

 


	12. Steve/Natasha - #35

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **rating:** PG-13  
>  **word count:** ~800  
>  **prompt:** 35\. As a goodbye (for romineitor)

"We should've just eloped."

Natasha feels her lips twitch into a bit of a smirk as she tilts her head to meet Steve's gaze. He winks, tucks her in close, _closer_ , and she hums, brushing a kiss to the corner of his mouth as she whispers, "Don't let Pepper hear you." His chest rumbles with a chuckle and he tips her chin forward, kissing the middle of her forehead. He's being a little bit ridiculous right now, because it's not as if they're incapable of spending one night apart, but, it's different this time. She's never paid much attention to wedding traditions before, because she never though she'd need to. She'd never thought she'd be _here_ – tucked into Steve's arms, his eyes sparkling with affection, with _adoration_ , the ring on her finger twinkling under the chandelier of Tony and Pepper's penthouse. She never thought she'd be anyone's girlfriend, or fiance, or _wife_ , but, here she is.

Natasha has gone along with most of what Pepper has insisted on, because she trusts the woman, and because she'd left a majority of the planning in her hands. But this might be one tradition Natasha might have to pass on, if it means that she has to spend the night before the wedding without Steve.

"Let her."

She rolls her eyes, feeling herself smile as she brushes her thumb over the apple of his cheek. He snatches her wrist, pressing a kiss to her palm. "It's one night," she points out, though she can hear the reluctance in her own voice. She has half a mind to slip away with Steve so they can take a cab back to their apartment, though she'll have to be back in the morning to get ready, anyway. Pepper had been _adamant_ about the dress staying here, so Steve couldn't peek. It makes sense for Natasha to stay, and for Steve to go back to Sam's, since that's where the guys will be getting ready tomorrow, but still.

They should've just eloped.

"We can do a lot with one night," he says, voice low in her ear, and she digs her nails into him a little and gives him this _look_ because – _god_ , he can't say things like that to her. Not when she knows he won't be able to actually follow up on it.

(Well, that's not exactly true. They've had sex in the penthouse before.)

"Okay, I'm stopping you two _right here_ ," Tony cuts in, slipping an arm around Natasha's waist and pulling her from Steve's arms. Steve says his name, one eyebrow raised, and Tony squints at him, pointing a finger. "Oh, don't start with me, Cap. We all know what happens when we let you two make heart-eyes at each other for too long. You know, I _still_ can't use my own guest bathroom."

Natasha smirks. Steve chuckles, shakes his head.

Sharon comes to stand beside Natasha, linking their arms together and grinning at Steve. "Like it or not, your girl ours for tonight."

"It's _one night_ apart," Sam chimes in, clapping a hand on Steve's back.

"I don't want to spend one night apart from her. I thought that was the point."

"Stop," Natasha says, glaring at him playfully as her cheeks flush and her heart does a stupid little flutter in her chest. It's ridiculous that he can still make her _blush_ , make her heart skip. He grins at her like he knows what she's thinking – he probably does, because he always has – and she rolls her eyes and smiles.

"I think it's time we head out," Bucky chimes in, though, he seems rather content with not moving at all with Wanda perched on his lap like that.

Steve casts him a look. "You, too, Buck?"

Bucky shrugs and Wanda _giggles_ , pressing a kiss to his cheek.

"Now, kiss your fiance and get out," Pepper orders, giving Steve a smile when he arches an eyebrow at her. "I mean it. Before I have you dragged out."

"That's _cold_ , Pep," he says, feigning offense, and then he snatches Natasha's hand and tugs her out of Sharon's grasp and to his chest, too quick for them to quite catch. He slants his lips over hers, kissing her, _hard_ , and Natasha feels her stomach flip, her heart stutter. If she wasn't craving his kiss so much, she'd be a little more pissed that he's doing this to her right before he has to leave – and she swears she feels him _smirk_ against her lips, as if that was his intention all along. She wouldn't be surprised if it was. He's always been an _ass_ like that.

He nips at her lower lip once, twice, before pulling away, and her eyelashes flutter as she stares up at him.

The next time he kisses her, she'll be his _wife_. Her blood thrums at this.

"I love you," he tells her, breath warm against her face. "I'll see you tomorrow."

"Tomorrow," she promises. He grins, runs the pad of his thumb over her knuckles, and she squeezes his fingers a little tighter. "And I love you, too."


	13. Steve/Natasha - #6, 23, 25

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **rating:** PG-13  
>  **word count:** ~600  
>  **prompt:** 6\. On a sunny Tuesday afternoon, the late sunlight glowing in your hair + 23. Through a song + 25. In a blissful sigh as you fall asleep (for aquajules and marvelousdorito)

"Love," Steve says with a bit of a chuckle, gently taking the shirt from her hands. She's sitting on the couch, folding _laundry_ , because her exhaustion had finally caught up to her and she couldn't bring herself to do much else than sit in one place. She and Sharon were in Berlin for a week, and Steve insisted that she should take a nap, but she'd already been away from her baby for three days longer than Nick had promised. It wasn't his fault, but still. She's _missed_ James, and he was _so excited_ to see her that it was easy to forget that she's barely gotten any sleep in the last two days.

Now he's down for a nap and Steve has started on dinner, and she's stopped just long enough to finally feel the exhaustion catching up with her.

Steve moves the laundry basket aside, sitting next to her, and she reaches for him and sort of burrows herself into his chest, gripping the material of his shirt between her fingers as she closes her eyes. "I got you," he murmurs, rubbing a hand in soothing strokes over her back. She hums and presses her face into his neck, brushing a kiss there. "Why don't you get some sleep, Nat?" he asks.

"I'm fine," she mumbles, curling into him a little more.

"You're about to pass out, babe."

"Don't be an ass." He chuckles, pressing a kiss to her hair. "I was on a plane for nine hours."

"Exactly," he says, kneading his thumb into her shoulder blade, and she lets out this little sound and curls around him tighter. "You got to spend some time with James, burn off the rest of your energy from arguing with politicians all week. I'd say you earned a good night's rest in your own bed."

"Steve, shut up," she breathes, lifting her head to meet his gaze. He's giving her that ridiculous, dimpled smile of his that always, _always_ makes her heart flutter in her chest, and she grips onto his shirt a little tighter, presses her forehead against his as she kisses the corner of his mouth. "Maybe I'm not tired. Maybe I just wanted you to cuddle with me," she murmurs, feeling herself smile when he lets out a laugh, winding his arms around her a little tighter. She missed how it felt to be held by him. Not that she could ever really forget, but still.

"Well, all you had to do was ask," he teases.

Her lips tug into a grin, and she shifts to rest her head against his shoulder, pressing her forehead into the curve of his neck. He slides a hand up her back and gently through her hair, twirling it around his fingers, massaging the pads of his fingers over her scalp, and she lets out this little noise. She knows he's kind of always had a thing for her hair, and maybe that's why she loves when he plays with it. She lets it distract her for a moment, lets it soothe the dull ache in her muscles away, and she knows she's already starting to drift off when she realizes that his chest is rumbling in a low hum as he sings softly into her ear. His voice is barely above a whisper, and she's honestly too tired to make much sense of anything, but she still recognizes the foreign syllables enough to make her lips curve into a smile. He's sung this lullaby to her a thousand times, the same one that his mother had sung to him over and over again as a child, and Natasha still gets this little flutter in her heart whenever she hears it.

"… _I will love you_ ," he sings, holding onto her a little tighter. She knows she's seconds away from falling asleep, and she shifts in his lap, burrowing herself into his side even more. He kisses her hair. "Sure you're not tired, love?"

" _Ass_ ," she sighs, smile a little wider as her eyes flutter closed. "I love you, too."

He laughs softly, and that's the sound that she carries with her when she finally falls asleep.


	14. Sam/Sharon - #13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **rating:** PG-13  
>  **word count:** ~1100  
>  **prompt:** 13\. In a letter (for anakinobidalas)

She finds it on accident.

She isn't… she's not _snooping_ , and she doesn't think it could even be considered that if she's in her own apartment. Except, Sam has more or less moved himself in at this point, and she doesn't have any complaints at all.

They're both out of town a lot for their work, but he's spent more time in her apartment and her bed than his own over the last few months, and it just makes sense for him to move in. She likes coming home to him, or knowing that he'd just been there, because he's scribbled a note to her and left it on the fridge with one of the bird magnets that Natasha had gifted to him last Christmas. Sometimes all he writes is that he misses her, or that he went to grab groceries and will be back in a bit, and she knows that he'll just end up texting her about it, anyway, but still. She likes seeing these little notes from him. She has them tucked between the pages of the Oxford Dictionary in her bedroom. She wonders if he knows that they're there.

And Sam isn't messy, not at all. (Military habits are hard to kick.) But there are traces of him all over her apartment, and she likes it, okay? She likes finding his clothes in her basket when she's done a load of laundry, likes that _smile_ he gets when he comes home to find her in a pair of leggings and one of his old graphic shirts. She likes that his military tags are pinned to the cork board in the bedroom, and that a picture of him and Riley is framed on one of the end tables in the living room, and that his Star Wars mug set sits next to her wine glasses in the cabinet. His toothbrush is next to hers at the sink, and there's a bottle of his cologne on her vanity, and there's always a _palette_ of eggs in her fridge because he knows that she loves omelettes and so he makes it for her almost every morning.

So most of his stuff is in her apartment now, and when she comes home to find his books spread out on the coffee table, she doesn't think much of it. He likes to reread them when he's waiting for the laundry, but he'd been on the last load and they're about to start on dinner, so he probably won't need them anymore.

It falls out from between the pages of one of the books when she picks it up, and she sort of just _looks_ at it for a moment, because she can see her name and she recognizes Sam's handwriting, and she's… she's _curious_ , okay?

She's folding it open before she can help herself.

–

_Sharon,_

_What does it mean when someone who always has something to say can't get any of the right words out? Maybe that's why I'm writing this. Natasha said that I needed to start somewhere before I babble to you like an idiot, but at least you said you've always found my rambling amusing. I guess that might've been the first time I realized that you could be the one._

_You are the one. I hope you know that. I hope that I can tell you that myself one day, and that the right words will come out, because I never know what I'm saying. But you always figure out, don't you? You always know. You've always known me, and I want to tell you how much that means to me. One day, I'll figure out how to do that. Maybe it'll be at the perfect moment, or at the worst possible time. I hope it'll be something special. I hope it'll be before I've missed out on my chance. Riley used to tell me that all the time to not wait too long, and now I've got Steve in my ear, singing the same song. Maybe I ought to finally listen. Because I've never believed in perfect, yet there's you, so obviously I'd been wrong. I hope when I tell you, you'll feel the same. I think you do._

_Because I love you, Sharon Carter. I love you so damn much, and if I do this right, you'll have heard the words yourself before you ever get to read this._

_And if I know you like I think I do, you'll have said the words right back. And it would've been perfect._

_Here's to the future, right?_

_Love, Sam_

–

She'd heard the door open softly, heard him say her name, but she can't quite draw herself away from the letter, not until she feels his hands slide over her hips and he tugs her close, pressing his chest against his back as he presses a kiss to her temple. "Curious little kitten, are we?" he asks, lips brushing softly against her skin, and she lets out a shaky laugh, eyelashes dotting with tears when she blinks and meets his gaze. There's a smile on his lips, and so much _adoration_ in his eyes that she knows he's not actually upset about her reading the letter.

"It fell out," she says, and she's about two seconds from crying. She can feel it.

She doesn't care.

"Uh-huh," he teases, squeezing her hips.

"This would've been way more romantic than what actually happened," she says, and she doesn't mean it, not at all, and he chuckles like he knows this. He probably does, because he knows _her_. She'd never take back that moment for anything, even if she'd been bruised and sweaty and scared half to death after watching his body _falling_ from the air, before Tony had caught him. She'd never take back his raspy, whispered confession in the Emergency room, with his hand squeezing tightly, too tightly around hers, and his lip had been bleeding when she'd kissed him, but she'd been shaking as much as she is right now.

"Hey, that was some _epic_ romance," he argues, making this giggle bubbles out of her as she turns in his arms and grasps his face in her hands. She crumples a corner of his letter with the motion, but it's fine. She'll smooth it out between the pages of her dictionary with his other notes.

"It was," she agrees, holding him tighter. His smile widens. "It really was."

"And it was perfect, right?"

She nods, giggling again as she tips her head up to press her forehead against his. "Yeah," she says, and then brushes her lips to his, soft and gentle, and her cheeks are wet with tears, but he draws back and kisses them away as he tucks her even closer. "I love you," she whispers into his cheek, over and over again just as she had that day in Emergency. "I love you _so damn much_ , Sam Wilson."

He _laughs_ , grasps her chin with his fingers and kisses her a little harder.

"Perfect," he murmurs against her lips, and she doesn't know if he's talking about her or their kiss or this moment, but she doesn't care.

Right now, everything definitely feels _perfect_.


End file.
